Monster Erotica: Dead or Alive?

Monster erotica has peaked. Though people are still offering it on amazon, nobody is writing about the genre. The latest news article I can find declared it dead, and that was last March. My favorite monster erotica bloggers haven’t updated their blogs since 2014.

So it would appear that I was late to the party, and might do well to quit wasting my time. I don’t have much invested, financially, so I could cut my losses and not be much worse off.

Actually, I wouldn’t be worse off at all. I’m better off for having done what I’ve done. I’ve learned a few tricks about writing that I didn’t get from writing a novel. I’d probably know more about writing, if I’d taken more writing classes in college, or gone to some expensive writing workshop in a distant location; but instead I’ve studied writing by writing erotica. Not a bad trade-off, in my mind. And, in my painfully slow way, I’ve learned more about production and self-publishing. If I keep up, by the time I finish my current (non-erotic) novel, I just might be able to publish it in a reasonable period of time, without pulling my hair out or smashing my computer. That’s a pretty big step, for me.

And I still get new ideas. There are more monster stories to be written. I haven’t written the one about the sheela na gig and the dragon. That’ll be one for the more mature ladies, who, I believe, deserve more quality erotica aimed to them.

Another new idea just came to me this week: it would be a combination of a bigfoot story and a satire on those goofballs hanging out at the nature preserve in Oregon. Snacks, anyone? Oh boy, that’ll be a fun one to write.

They’re all fun. Writing monster erotica is hilariously delicious. Cut my losses? Ha! I’m not quitting till I’m done, and I’m not done. I may be the last hold-out, but as far as I’m concerned, the party’s just starting.

Happy 2016, folks.

Coming Along

After several months hiatus as an erotica writer, I am finally making progress. I’m in process of uploading Summer of the Centaur to Amazon, so it won’t be much longer now before its release. Maybe you’ll be able to purchase this luscious story as a Christmas gift for the monster erotica enthusiast in your life.

Unlike my previous monster erotica offering, Lure of the Prairie Monster, this one will be available exclusively on Amazon, and if you watch carefully, you might catch one of five days when it will be free! I don’t know when they’ll be yet, but I’ll be sure to announce it here at Crea DelRand’s Monster Erotica.

Happy holidays, friends.

Summer of the Centaur, part III

A pristine forest, a young woman, an attractive centaur . . . part I, part II.

Their eyes met. Sylvia resisted the urge to scan his body and look at . . . all his parts. But his eyes were beautiful, sort of a mashup of green and brown, and his gaze held hers so intensely that she realized she couldn’t have looked away anyway. She thought she ought to say something, but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out.

“Do you like what you see?”

Yes, she did, very much, but it would probably be unseemly to be overly enthusiastic. He face flushed. “I—yes.” Now, that sounded ridiculous, but better just to leave it there than make it worse by saying more.

He snickered. Or was it a nicker? “I’d show you more, but it’s all here,” he said, spreading his arms to show off those beautiful deltoids. The pectorals were pretty nice, too, enough but not too much. “While humans, on the other hand, insist upon covering themselves, as if there might be something shameful in a body, or some reason to hide. He leaned forward slightly and peered at her, as if to look into her brain, her soul. “Do you have something to hide?”

“Oh no, I don’t!” It was true, she really didn’t. She wasn’t interesting enough to have anything to hide. “I come here sometimes. I just . . . like this rock.”

There was a flicker of interest in his eyes. “It’s a fine rock. Suitable for a number of purposes.”

Sylvia was having a chance to have a conversation with a centaur, and she was really botching it. She wanted to say something witty or clever, but her mind was blank. She felt dizzy. If she hadn’t been lying on her back already, she might fall over.

He sniffed, his nose twitching slightly, and a hint of a smile crossed his face. He reached a hand down to help her to her feet. “Come up then, miss nothing-to-hide, and let’s see what you’ve got.”

Dazed, Sylvia took his hand and let him pull her to her feet, leaning heavily on his hand. He was strong.

“All right then, take them off.”

“Pardon?” Did he really mean—

“The clothes. Surely you don’t expect to keep yourself covered, while I stand before you honestly bare, do you?”

When she hesitated, he snorted, “Humans. Always have to be taught everything, like children.” He turned, as if to leave.

“Wait! I’ll take my clothes off.” She slipped her knit sundress over her head, then pushed the panties to the ground, slipping them off her ankles along with her sandals. That was all she was wearing, hadn’t been planning on getting naked with anyone today.

He turned back and looked over his shoulder, giving Sylvia an appraising eye. She felt her nipples responding to the cool mist. And maybe his gaze, as well. “Hm. Maybe this one has some potential after all. Well, will you take a ride, then?”

“Ride?”

With a small sigh, he leaned toward her, grabbing her around the waist. In one motion he hoisted her up and onto his back, his sleek chestnut withers between her legs.

“Hold on,” he said, as he took her arms and wrapped them around his torso. Then he loped off into the forest.

***

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Summer of the Centaur, part II

You can read the beginning of the story here.

It was a few days before she returned to the forest. She tried to bury herself in work, deciphering old tax forms and bank statements. But her mind refused to focus on the papers, and at night came the dreams of that supple torso, the light touch, the nicker in her ear. Finally she walked away from the pile of papers on the kitchen table, and out of the house, leaving the door open behind her.

There was a light mist in the forest, which intensified the colors. Sylvia had a feeling of being submerged in green as she walked the familiar path to her rock. She didn’t know what she expected; it seemed unlikely the centaur would be there again, just when she happened to come. But something unfamiliar was stirring in Sylvia, driving her, and she didn’t know what else to do.

She wanted to see that man. That creature. She wanted to touch him. Smell him. She wanted —she didn’t know what she wanted. What she wanted was something she’d never had.

Sylvia had played with boys a bit, kissed maybe, or explored each others’ bodies with their hands, but no boy she’d ever met seemed worthy of the most precious gift of her whole self, her whole body. They all seemed so sophomoric, so clean-cut, with their soft skin and neatly groomed hair. Shouldn’t a man be more . . . wild, maybe, less tame. No, she didn’t know what she wanted, but could it be that a centaur —with his powerful flanks, unruly hair down to the shoulders, a man so fully one with his animal nature that he was half animal —was exactly that?

There was enough sun coming through the mist and leaves to warm the big rock, so she lay on it, belly down, looking over the edge into the water at her dancing reflection. She dropped little pebbles and twigs into the pool, watching how they shattered her face into chaotic bits of light. After a while she knew that nothing was going to happen here, and just when she had decided that this pebble would be the last, and then she would get up and go back to the house, she watched her reflection resolve back to her face, with another face behind it.

Sylvia rolled slowly onto her back. He had somehow managed silently to place a hoof on the rock beside her, and now he was directly above her, so she was looking up at his abdomen and chest. His hands were on his hips again, and he smiled, a proud, confident smile.

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Ensnare: The Librarian’s Lover, by Mac Flynn

A tentacle story that takes place in a library . . . well, that’s unusual. (If you don’t want unusual, you probably ought to skip the monster erotica genre.) Leslie is a mousy student working in the college library. I found it refreshing that the heroine is a regular girl with some self-esteem issues, unlike the porn trope of every female character being young, hot, and athletic, with perfect breasts. For those who want the hot girl, Flynn gives you one in the beginning, when Leslie watches the hot boy she has a crush on making out in the library with his girl du jour.

But more interesting things are in store for Leslie. There are predatory bullies to contend with, an annoying co-worker, and a stern but kind boss. All Leslie wants to do is look at that strange book that mysteriously appeared in the book return. And she’s not really a risk-taker, but that book might inspire some changes in her, as well as some help for the self-esteem.

Possibly a bit long on set-up, and I didn’t really get why the back of the library seems as big as the stacks, and is laid out like a labyrinth, but neither of those was a big deal.

It’s a really sweet story, with a feel-good ending, and delicious erotica along the way.

Summer of the Centaur, part I

Sylvia had always known there were centaurs. Since she was a girl, she’d seen them occasionally, a flash of white flank between the trees, in the forest behind her grandmother’s farm. Sometimes when she wandered there, following the stream that glinted and gurgled over the rocks and led into the wild mountains, she might hear the distant thud of galloping hooves or a throaty laugh that always seemed to be just behind the next tree. Of course they wouldn’t let her get a good look, but they were unquestionably there.

It wasn’t something anyone talked about, though. If she mentioned anything about centaurs to her mother, she only looked away, with that disapproving grimace that Sylvia always hated to see, would do anything to avoid. When she spoke to her grandmother of those horse-men in the forest, the woman would simply smile a hint of a smile, then turn away and change the subject, leaving Sylvia to try to have a conversation with the steel-gray bun that was ever pinned primly to the back of her grandmother’s head.

Now Gran was gone, and Sylvia was left to manage the house and property alone. Her mother would have nothing to do with the place, but Gran’s will had insisted that the property be kept in the family. There was no one but Sylvia to care for it, so she was spending the summer here before going back to college in another state. She would spend hours struggling to focus on papers covered with legalese words she didn’t understand, or going through rotting boxes of dusty jars or rusty hand tools in the dirt-floored basement. When she could take no more of it, she went to the forest.

In the forest, the air was always fresh and cool. Sylvia breathed deeply of the scent of honeysuckle, feeling the relief of being out-of-doors again. There was a place she liked to sit and listen to the water, on a smooth flat rock that rose a few feet above the soil. The rock was half in and half out of the water, where it pooled below a waterfall about ten feet high. There was no place on earth  where Sylvia could find greater peace and solitude.

But on this day someone was there. He stood in the knee-deep pool, directly under the waterfall, head tilted back to drink deeply. Water ran down his bare shoulders and chest, and splashed off his chestnut back and flanks.

Sylvia froze. She’d never been this close to a centaur, and she didn’t want to startle him. It occurred to her that she’d been just a girl last time she’d seen one, and now that she was more mature, she appreciated his robust torso in a way she hadn’t before. She liked the curve of his deltoids over the shoulder, the contours of the muscles of the abdomen. His arms were bent, hands resting at the place where smooth fur melted into bare skin.

He finished drinking, then stepped backwards a step, and turned toward Sylvia. His eyes widened slightly, and a look came over his face that Sylvia couldn’t read. He reared up, arms stretched out and up, and shook the water from his hair like a dog. Then he turned and loped away.

Sylvia gasped—she must have been holding her breath—and followed, splashing awkwardly across the rocky pool, and into the trees beyond. She thought she saw movement ahead, and stumbled toward it, but couldn’t catch up. Though much bigger, he was more agile and clearly better at making his way through the underbrush than Sylvia on her mere two legs.

She stopped to listen. Was there a rustle off to the left? She turned her head, but saw nothing. Then behind and to the right, a nicker, so close she thought she could touch him. But when she turned, he was already gone, nothing but the bottom of his hoof throwing up dead leaves in her direction. She followed.

But Sylvia’s clumsy flailing through the forest was no match for the centaur’s agility. After a while, sweaty and scratched from ankle to eyebrow, she gave up and went back to the house. She was in a part of the forest she didn’t know, but she knew which direction to go, so it didn’t take long for her to find a familiar path.

***

In deep slumber, she dreamt of the centaur. She was in the forest at night. Faint moonlight filtered through the leaves of the trees, but darkness prevailed. Though she couldn’t quite see him, she knew he was there, watching her. She turned, paused, turned another way, then suddenly she felt a touch on the small of her back. Far from being afraid, she was thrilled, and leaned into the touch. The hand stroked up her spine, over the curve of the shoulder, up the side of her neck, behind the ear, into the hairline. The touch sent tingles through Sylvia’s body, down her arms and back, all the way to that special secret place she had never shared with anyone.

The hand moved down her front, tracing the collarbone, taking the curve of her naked breast, circling the areola with a touch lighter than a night breeze. The nipple contracted at the touch. Shivering with desire, Sylvia could hold herself no longer, and she turned to the beast, but he was gone.

She woke still shivering. She wanted him. Her desire was so intense, she nearly jumped out of bed and ran into the darkness right then. But she was held back by her fear of being lost forever in the forest.

The Prairie Monster Is Real!

Well, not really, but the story about the prairie monster is now available for purchase, which makes it a real (self-)published piece of literature. Here are some places you can buy it, if you wish to. If you prefer another retailer, leave a comment and I’ll get you the link. If you support independent authors by reviewing their work, let me know and I’d love to give you a review copy.

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Kobo

You can also find Lure of the Prairie Monster for Apple devices, through the bookstore at iTunes.

Monster Skin, Melancton Hawks

Before I knew monster erotica was a thing, I read Monster Skin. I met the author on Goodreads, when we were both looking for reviews for our novels. (He never responded to my invitations to read and review my novel, for what it’s worth. I owe him nothing.) I had never read anything like this book, and now that monster erotica is a genre in its own right, it occurs to me that Monster Skin fits right in. But yet, even though I am a monster erotica writer myself now, I still haven’t read anything else like it. From me, that’s always a compliment.

Hawks goes out of his way to break all kinds of taboos. Protagonist Spooky Bonsai is a vivacious, fashion-obsessed teen who prowls New York City mostly unsupervised by her nasty stepfather. She spends much of the first third of the book engaged in such a variety of sex acts that—though I hate to admit it— I’d never thought of many of them. I’d have to say I found the clinical description of Spooky’s encounters with a rich, hot nympho hermaphrodite more amusing than a turn-on.

But the story moves fast, and keeps one-upping itself. The monster in question is a cthulhu, which has the mysterious power of transferring sexual energy to/from whomever touches its skin, whether attached, or ripped off and made into an incredibly cool leather jacket.

The plot is clever and keeps the reader wondering: who is the villain? Will the monster’s power be used ultimately for good or evil? Where on earth will a virgin be found to sacrifice to the monster? (Virgin sacrifice meaning, in this case, the sacrifice of someone’s virginity.)

Hilarious, colorful, and fast-paced, Monster Skin stands out as one of my favorite books of the last few years. Highly recommended for adventurous readers with a sense of humor.

Lure of the Prairie Monster, Part 2

We continue our story. For part 1, click here.

Viv and Tess walked along the barbed-wire fence, lighting matches and dropping them. There were more efficient ways of igniting a pasture, but Viv liked playing with matches. Occasionally they’d turn around and watch the line of flames coming to life behind them.

“I can’t stop thinking about that –thing. I hope we see him,” said Tess.

“He better not touch any of our cattle.  I’ll shoot his ass so fast you won’t believe it.”

“Jeb Chase said the bullets bounced right off.”

And then the monster was there. He’d just stepped to the top of the hill ahead, and he towered over the two women, roaring louder than any sound she’d ever heard before. It felt as if the sound went through Tess’s body, catching up every cell in vibrations so powerful she might explode.

“Run to the truck!” yelled Viv, and took off. After a few seconds she looked back and saw she was running alone. “COME ON! RUN!!”

But Tess was paralyzed. She’d never felt so drawn to anyone or anything. She couldn’t move away, didn’t want to. She looked up at him, holding one hand to shade her eyes from the sun. His thick, rough skin had the color of weather-bleached limestone, with sparse, wiry hair sticking out in tawny tufts. And of course, there was that enormous cock, as big as her entire body. Was there a female one of these, somewhere, for him to mate with?

“Get in the truck!” Viv had pulled up on the road on the other side of the fence. “Hurry!”

Tess looked back at the monster. She took a step forward. He tilted his head down, and the massive legs bent into a crouch. She braced against his breath, like a hot wind. She was surprised that it had an earthy, organic aroma, but not unpleasant. He looked at her, with eyes that showed awareness. He was studying her. She stared into his eyes, and knew she was safe. He could swat her like a fly, but he wouldn’t.

“Over here! Get in the truck!” Viv was laying on the horn.

She took another step forward. There was darkness in her peripheral vision, then a firm, warm grip wrapped around her torso. He had fingers somewhat like an ape, but with claws more like a dog. The grip was light enough that she could wriggle out if she chose to. But she didn’t.

The hand raised her dizzyingly high in the air, and brought her against his chest. His skin was rough and hard as the native rock of the hills. She leaned in and felt the warmth, and listened to the deep, slow thud of his heart.

He walked. Tess felt in her bones the rhythm of his heavy footsteps; the long sideways sway, the drop of each gargantuan foot, vibrating the earth with the force of a boulder. After a while she peeked down at the mind-boggling erection, and was startled to notice that she was aroused. Sure, it was nice to look at, but what on earth would she do with a thing that size?

She closed her eyes, relaxing into his hand.

***

When he stopped walking, she looked around. She’d thought she’d known every hill in the county, but she didn’t recognize where they were. The ground was black from burning, and a thick haze of smoke hung in the air. The monster was settling himself down beside a hill, and he gently set Tess on a ledge of rock that jutted out flat, high on the side of the hill. When he lay down beside the ledge, she saw that his craggy skin made it possible for him to blend into the prairie and be invisible, for all his enormity; the blackened earth, however, left him vulnerable. If he’d wanted to eat her or otherwise harm her, he could easily have done so by now, several times over; and so she decided she was safe with him, and lay on the sun-warmed rock beside his face, wondering what would happen next.

He continued to gaze at her. His breath was hot and moist as a sauna, so warm that she was soon soaked in sweat. After a while she decided to take off her clothes. He wasn’t human, after all, so it really wasn’t any different from being naked in front of a dog or cat, was it?

There was a very low, but very loud, rumble. It was so low that she felt it rather than heard it, felt it deep in her body, in her gut, and in her pelvis. It was a pleasant feeling, and she smiled a little as she lay on the warm rock. She closed her eyes, and it wasn’t until she felt his touch that she realized that the rumble was coming from him, from his throat. And the touch –oh, the touch. Who would ever have imagined that the touch of this giant, lumbering, prairie monster could be so delicate? He stroked her with a finger that was stubby and thick as a railroad tie, but with such sweet gentleness that it brought tears to her eyes. Could it be that Tess had never truly known tender caresses, before today? From the top of her head to the sensitive soles of her feet he stroked, and slowly back up the inner side of her leg, out to the hip bone, circling her lower abdomen. Her nipples were shriveled and hard as pebbles before he touched them. Waves of tingles spread throughout her body. When, panting and shivering, she thought she could take no more, he laid a smooth, hard claw firmly against her clitoris. “Oh!” she cried out in surprise and pleasure.

***

What other skills does the Prairie Monster have? The complete story is available at the eretailer of your choice.

Mounted By the Minotaur, Persephone Parsons

Mounted By the Minotaur is a fun short story. Callie is a strong female heroine, who is comfortable in her body. The premise is that New York’s Central Park has been transformed into a Garden of Unearthly Delights, which is allegedly safe to tour during the day, but terrifying dangers await anyone who finds herself there in the night. This premise works well as the basis of a series, from a practical perspective; while at the same time it is a powerful literary device to transform space which is, at one level or another, familiar to the reader into a place where one’s deepest fears and urges are manifested into reality.

The story has some fearful moments, but the sex is consensual, and let’s just say that the minotaur is sensitive to the needs of a lady.

It’s hard to end an erotic story. Where do you go after the (literary as well as physical) climax? Does a reader really care at that point? This one had an end I found intriguing, if not entirely convincing. But, it’s monster erotica, you want believability?

I give Mounted four stars out of five.